


We Can Be Heroes

by LadleWrites



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Angst, Angsty rock, Baz Pitch and Simon Snow have a flat, Baz Pitch drives a Jaguar, Baz and Simon are ADULTS, Drunk Simon Snow, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gratuitous references to David Bowie, Just let Baz do the crossword, Let Baz Pitch have a break, Let Simon have a break, M/M, Mental Illness, Punk Rock, References to David Bowie, References to Lou Reed, Set post-Carry On, Simon Snow Loves Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Therapy, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch Loves Simon Snow, difficult conversations, i was listening to the hamilton soundtrack while writing this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:41:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25071811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadleWrites/pseuds/LadleWrites
Summary: BAZI really need a break.This day has been the longest of my life and this week has been sent from the depths of Hell itself. I haven't had a single moment to myself in what feels like months. I’ve been so busy grading and revising and carrying my students through innumerable break downs but finals are finally over and I’m not touching any of the papers for at least two days. I need this weekend.I need a bath, I need a massive cup of tea and Crowley, I want to see my boyfriend for more than ten minutes when both of us aren’t barely conscious.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 7
Kudos: 55





	We Can Be Heroes

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back! I didn't really expect to have another fic written so soon but this idea just stuck with me and I couldn't stop thinking about it until I finally sat down and just went for it. I've always loved reading fics that show Simon and Baz as adults, just navigating their relationship and all the pressures of being a grownup. I hope that I did the conversation that Baz and Simon have justice, did their relationship justice. I just think that it's important to remember when looking and Baz and SImon that they are both broken, both victims to countless injustices in their world and that loving each other doesn't disregard all of the pain they have each been through, Simon and Baz didn't save each other, they just reminded each other that they have the strength and power to save themselves. So, I hope you guys enjoy my angsty fic, I promise one day I'll write something a little more light and happy!  
> \- Ladle

BAZ 

I really need a break. 

This day has been the longest of my life and this week has been sent from the depths of Hell itself. I haven't had a single moment to myself in what feels like months. I’ve been so busy grading and revising and carrying my students through innumerable break downs but finals are finally over and I’m not touching any of the papers for at least two days. I need this weekend. 

I need a bath, I need a massive cup of tea and Crowley, I want to see my boyfriend for more than ten minutes when both of us aren’t barely conscious. 

I don’t miss too much about my last years at Watford if I’m being honest with myself, between all the chaos and the countless near-death experiences it’s kind of difficult to appreciate the little things but at least back then Simon and I could actually spend time together (that is, once we both realized that we don’t hate the other). 

I miss just being able to exist in the same space as Snow without internally panicking about how I’m going to make it through the semester and whether the students are actually paying attention in the lectures and how I’m going to revise all of this (the mountain of papers is nearly as tall as Mordelia, the little menace tried to come home with me for the break but I was able to make Daphne see sense). 

I just miss Snow, as sad and soppy as it sounds, I miss my boyfriend. I miss his all-encompassing hugs, and how our flat perpetually smells like scones now (Snow’s taken up baking as a hobby since his therapist recommended it, I think it’s actually helped and I don’t have anything to complain about, I get scones and to see Simon in an apron). I miss laying together on the couch, his arms wrapped around my waist as something-or-other plays on the telly, neither of us paying any attention to it because we’re too wrapped up in each other. I miss Simon’s expert kisses, all we’ve had time for are short, chaste pecks as one of us is leaving. 

I even miss our flat, they provide rooms for the faculty to stay in at Watford, and with our flat being in London, it just makes more sense for me to stay on-campus even though it means that I haven’t really seen Simon in weeks. My family helped us make our first payment when we first graduated from Watford. Bunce occasionally crashes there and our front entrance is basically a revolving door for just about everyone we know. As much as I hate whenever my very limited time with Snow is intruded upon by friends and family, it’s not that bad of a problem to have, not really. Dev and Niall stop by the most since they have their own flat only a few blocks away and Snow will usually make something for dinner and we’ll all make a night of it. 

I miss all of the little things that make the flat ours, we haven’t had it for very long but Crowley, we’ve made it our own. The kitchen is decorated with all of Snow’s baking and cooking implements, we even have one small section of the wall that’s covered in teacups that Snow collects when he goes off with Professor Bunce. The flat only has two bedrooms, both quite modest in size, a single toilet, a kitchen, and a living room. Situated in the heart of London it was surprising that we were able to find it at all. The living room is partly taken over by my textbooks and papers while the other part is taken over by graphs and charts and other literature that Snow collects from Professor Bunce. We have my record player that I got from Fiona when I started Watford perched on one of our bookshelves and I am proud to say that over the years Snow and I have formed quite the collection of records. 

Crowley, I miss my bed, the mattress was one of the things I really splurged on and the beds back at Watford are centuries old and held together by spells and prayers. I miss lying in bed with Snow, his arms wrapped around me, I even miss his snoring, it had gotten to the point that I couldn't fall asleep without it. 

Snow’s been too busy working with Professor Bunce (Penelope's father) going around and researching the dead spots, I suppose being so intrinsically connected to the Humdrum makes one valuable when it comes to understanding it. I’m not entirely sure what Snow does when he goes off galivanting across the country with the good professor and I’m not convinced Snow knows either. (I think he’s just glad to have something to do, a purpose, even if it is an emotional cobweb, I know it’s difficult for him to go back, to constantly be faced with the damage, even if he didn’t know he was partly the cause of it at the time). It doesn’t help that Snow is one of the only people who is able to visit the dead sites (magickly) unaffected (I personally welcomed Simon's loss of magick; all it’s ever done is bring him heartache-no one could ever control that much raw power) but being forced to face it nearly every day is emotionally draining for Snow. 

He says that the therapy has helped, has made it easier to face much of his past, all that I know is that I’m blindingly proud of him, he’s handling all of this much better than I ever thought possible. He still has his bad days, we both do, but every time he pulls in on himself, I just stay by his side, there’s nowhere else I would want to be, and on those days, I only give as much of myself as he wants. Crowley knows he has every right and reason to be upset, but he still pulls himself together (I don’t know how) and faces the world with all of the bravery and courage that I’ve seen in him since our very first year at Watford. 

It used to be much more difficult, much more painful for both of us. The journey up this point has been mired with ups and plenty of downs, but I’m proud of us, both of us. It’s taken a lot of work to get to where we are now, where I can recognize Snow’s needs without having to navigate a painfully awkward conversation. And Snow has gotten better at forgiving himself and allowing himself to be happy and both of us have gotten so much better at talking to each other about these kinds of things. 

Coming from a family whose creed is to bury everything and never discuss it, unsurprisingly resulted in quite a few difficulties talking about just about anything. And having spent the majority of my life being spoon-fed my hatred of Snow and tucking my feelings away in my breast pocket to never be seen nor heard from again, resulted in me not really knowing how to love Snow. 

I know that I’ve always loved him and that I’ve never doubted the force of my feelings but I never really knew how to express those feelings, everything just came out as contempt or sarcasm at best. It took me a long time to understand that I’m allowed to love Snow, that I’m allowed to act on the feelings and desires I spent so long repressing and burying. 

As Agatha Wellbelove so eloquently put it, I’m, “emotionally constipated.” I would never have used such crass language but it seems to be accurate enough. It didn’t help matters either that Snow didn’t know how to act on his feelings for me either. Snow and love have always had a complicated relationship. 

Snow has never had someone that was easy to love, not really, everything has always been tied in a complicated web of other emotions. 

Snow loved the Mage but the Mage also used him and committed innumerable atrocities, and never really showed Snow any love in return. He also didn’t find out the Mage was actually his father until much later, which only served to further complicate Snow’s feelings for the wretched creature. You're supposed to love your family implicitly but what do you do when they've never reciprocated any of that love when they saw only as a tool?

Snow loved Wellbelove, but he never really loved her, so much as he loved the idea of surviving past graduation and having some semblance of a happy life, but neither of them cared for each other in the way that would allow for a healthy enough relationship that would carry them to that ideal. They were both looking for salvation in each other, looking for one to fix the other which only lead to a multitude of problems, many of which Snow is still working through. 

Snow loved Ebeneza Petty, she was probably one of the few people who could even remotely understand what Snow was going through with his power, with his magick, but she died fighting the Mage, a moment in time that was as emotionally complicated for Snow as it was painful. 

Snow loves me, but we spent our entire childhoods being told to hate each other and that we would have to kill each other, one day. That kind of environment can hardly help foster any kind of a healthy relationship. I know that I love Snow and that Snow loves me, but none of that has ever been easy. How can it be when you’ve believed the other to be your enemy practically since birth? 

The majority of people that Snow has loved have died in a horrifically tragic way or found some other way to leave him, Penelope and I might be the only exceptions. 

Snow and I have had to work at loving each other, none of it has ever come naturally to us, we’ve had to learn how the other works and had to learn what and where our boundaries are. It’s not as easy as Shakespeare makes it out it to be to completely shift your relationship from enemies to that of lovers. We had to figure out that transition ourselves, it all didn’t just magickly change through the sheer power of wanting it to. 

But we’ve made it here nonetheless, and I’m so thankful for it. But right now, I just want to see my boyfriend, he requested this weekend off months ago and I’m looking forward to having the holiday break to laze around in bed with my handsome boyfriend. 

We’ve had too little time together lately and I didn’t realize how much of an impact that would have on me. I never would’ve let myself imagine a world like this, where Snow and I are happy together and have grown so used to the others’ company that it feels wrong to be away from the other like this. 

Even before Snow realized his feelings for me, I never allowed myself the luxury of missing him. 

I also really want-need- to be with Simon because it’s coming up on the anniversary when everything changed when Simon destroyed my family’s manor in Hampshire and subsequently opened up the biggest dead spot to-date when he learned that he created the Humdrum when he learned that he had unintentionally caused so much pain for so many people, the day he lost the Mage and Ebeneza, the day he lost his magick. (December isn’t historically the best month for Snow). 

No one has ever blamed Simon for any of it, I think he’s the only one who does, but he changed the world all the same, and this time of the year is never easy, and every moment that I am not at his side is like a physical pain. 

I’ve just loaded the last stack of papers into the Jag (a graduation gift from Watford from my father and Daphne), freshly changed into a Nick Drake shirt and jeans, my hair loose around my face when I get a text from Snow. 

I pull my mobile out as I’m rounding the driver’s side and read, “Where r u?” I huff a small laugh as I put the Jag in gear and begin the long drive from Watford to our flat in London. Snow has always been an abhorrent texter, though that is hardly surprising given that the majority of any conversation Snow has with anyone is at least fifty-percent “um’s”, and “oh’s”, and blustering. I would never admit that I find it as endearing as I do. 

I send him a quick message saying I’m on my way home whilst I’m at a stop sign. It always makes my heart feel light and tingly when I realize what I have, that I’m able to call this my home, that Snow is my home. 

I’m so ready to get there that I very nearly use “Make Way for the Queen,” but I'm able to stop myself, besides it would be a waste of magick once I get into London proper since the traffic is so dense and there’s nowhere else for the cars to go. Part of me wishes that we would get a cottage in the country purely so I wouldn’t have to constantly stress about traffic and parking. 

Maybe one day. 

I’ve managed to get to the E’s on my playlist by the time I find a spot to park the Jag. The sun is just beginning to set, though you can hardly tell it by the dense smog and clouds hanging low on the London skyline. 

I don’t even bother to unload any of my papers, content to worry about them once I’ve had my fill of Snow (will I ever?), simply gathering my phone, wallet, and keys from where they rested in the cupholder, the stress already seeping from my bones at being so close. 

This really has been a hectic past few weeks. 

SIMON 

It’s still early in the afternoon by the time I get home, Professor Bunce and I just stayed in London today going over some of the theories that he has on how the Humdrum was created. It’s been years since I destroyed the Humdrum but we’re still talking about it, still trying to figure out what the Mage did to me. 

Even though Professor Bunce let me go early, it’s still been a long day and I really just want to see Baz, he hasn’t been home in weeks and I hate how empty the house is without him. 

I’ve never really spent any time on my own before. At Watford, I shared our room in Mummer's tower with Baz for seven years, and the only time I really had the room to myself was during those six weeks at the start of seventh year when Baz was kidnapped by Numpties. During the summers I never had my own room at the care homes, I’d usually share a room with two or three other kids. Even during the holiday breaks, I would stay with the Wellbeloves or the one time I stayed with Baz’s family and kinda blew up their house. 

Point is, I’ve always had someone else there and I don’t like Baz not being home for lots of reasons but I hate how quiet it is, I hate that he’s not sitting in his dumb leather chair, a tea and a book in his hands, I hate being alone here. I hate that it makes everything in my brain feel so much louder. 

I try not to think about difficult things, it had been my go-to for years, just to block myself off from things that I wanted but couldn’t have and the things I couldn’t change. My therapist says that it was a “coping mechanism” and a pretty shit one at that ‘cause it turns out not thinking about things doesn’t do anything to fix any problems, it only really creates new ones for me to ignore. 

So I’ve tried to actually face some of them, to actually try to think through them and ten hells, it’s exhausting and awful and I hate doing it but it’s made it easier to talk about it. For a long time Baz and I couldn’t really talk about this kind of stuff, the hard stuff, mostly cause neither of us knew how and neither of us were used to having someone we trusted enough to. 

But it’s times like this when I have the whole, empty, echo-y flat to myself when all the thoughts I've spent years pushing away get loud and suffocating. 

Plus this time of the year is just jam-packed with stuff that’s difficult for me to think about, Crowley, I haven’t even been back to Watford in years because I don’t know if I can, and I haven’t been back to Baz’s family’s old manor because I don’t know if I can and there’s this entire list in my head of things I can’t do and it feels impossible to drown out the can’ts. 

I’ve spent the past few days trying to do what my therapist told me to do, to try and recognize what’s an “irrational” thought, something dark and dirty that isn’t true or real and to work through why it’s not true or not real but I’m so tired, I’m tired of having to doubt every single one of my thoughts and having to constantly stay on edge, ready for the next time my brain tries to destroy me and I’m so tired. 

I go straight to the record player when I get inside and pull out Lou Reeds’ The Raven album, Baz likes this angsty-rock more than me but the record makes me think of him and I wish he were here but this is as close as I can get. 

I pull out my mobile and send him a text asking where he is, he’s probably left Watford by now (I hope he’s left Watford by now). 

I’m sat on the couch, my coat and shoes still on, just staring at the black screen of the telly and I try, I really do, but I keep thinking of the day that Baz will realize he’s tied himself to a sinking ship and he’ll finally leave me, I keep thinking of all the dead spots that opened because of me, all of the people whose homes have just been wiped off the map, I think of Ebb and how she died because I couldn’t see the Mage for what he was, how I couldn’t save her, I’m a pretty shit savior when I can’t even save anyone. 

Somehow, I find myself standing in front of our meager collection of alcohol, tucked away in one of the cupboards in the kitchen, Baz and I really only drink if there’s something to celebrate but right now I just want something, anything to quiet the roaring of my mind. 

I tell myself that I’m only going to have a little, just enough to take the edge off and to get me in a better headspace. 

I don’t even get a glass; I just take the whole bottle with me over to the couch. 

The first few sips go down hard, burning a fiery path down my throat and it reminds me of Baz’s magick, passionate and hot and so sure of itself. 

The next few sips go down a little easier and I can feel the warmth starting to bloom in my chest, like a muted version of my own lost magick, except this time I won’t go off, this time the only person I can hurt is myself. 

Time starts to blur once I get half-way through the bottle, at some point I stumble over to the record player where the record had scratched to an end (Crowley, has it been that long?) I move the needle to the very edge of the record and turn the volume up and it feels so much better. 

I don’t even know what I’m thinking, it feels like my brain has just shut down, all of my thoughts too quick, too fleeting for me to really grasp them. 

I fall onto my arse when I try and move back to the couch and my head is getting a little too dizzy for me to try to stand back up so I just lay down and get comfortable on the carpet. 

I hope Baz won’t be disappointed when he sees me, but it’s not like I haven’t messed up before, it’s not like I haven’t been a disappointment before. He’s so good, he’s capable of so much, yeah, he might be a vampire but he still has his magick, he’s the smartest, strongest person that I know and he deserves someone who isn’t constantly a disappointment. 

And one day he’s going to realize it, come to his senses and see that I’m just a broken magick-less Normal who can’t do anything, I couldn’t go back to his family’s house this Christmas, I couldn’t go to Watford at all this past year even though I promised him I’d try. I can’t fucking do anything and he’ll realize it, he’s too smart not too. 

I guess I’m just trying to prepare myself for when that day comes. 

BAZ 

I’m just thumbing the key into the lock when I hear Lou Reed blaring from our record player. Snow only really listens to him when he’s in a mood. I take a deep breath and try to prepare myself for whatever might be lying beyond the doorway. 

I can smell the alcohol as soon as I step inside. 

Snow doesn’t drink very often and certainly not anything hard, the most he might have are a few beers if we go out (we rarely do) or if we’re having a nice night in, watching a movie or something on the telly (we rarely have the time for that either). 

I’ve only seen him drink like this on a handful of occasions, once when I graduated from Watford (Snow didn’t come back eighth year, neither did Penelope, not that I can blame them, even though I was shocked at Penelope’s decision), again when we first got the flat, and recently on Valentine’s Day (we don’t typically celebrate much on holidays) we both got more than a little tipsy and unfortunately, I can be a very handsy drunk. I was thrilled to wake up that next morning completely naked in bed with Snow, all of my blissful memories from the previous night completely intact. 

Both of us really only drink on good occasions, we use it as a form of celebration, a treat to make the moment even more special, even more enjoyable. Alcohol doesn’t really affect me the same way it does snow (a side effect of being dead) so I need to have a lot of it for it make much of a difference but I love a good glass of red wine (something that I was looking forward to when I got home, though those plans have since changed). 

On my walk through the narrow entryway, I can hear Snow whisper-mumbling-singing what I can only imagine is a very intoxicated interpretation of the lyrics. As I come into the living room I’m met with the sight of Snow star-fished on the carpet, a nearly empty bottle of vodka held fast against his chest, his cheeks ruddy and flushed, his eyes unfocused, staring up at the ceiling, head swaying softly to the music. 

I turn to where Lou Reed is blaring through our record player and turn the volume down to a much more reasonable level. Snow turns to the bookshelf where we keep the record player, his eyes scrunched up in confusion before they meet mine and go wide at the sight, a smile breaking out on his face. 

My heart still lifts at the sight, even drunk beyond belief Snow is blindingly beautiful, his goofy grin taking the remaining weight off of my shoulders. I’m still worried, still unsure about how to handle this entire situation but Crowley does it feel good to see him. 

He murmurs a quiet, “Baz,” before shuffling around, trying to stand up, though his current state makes the process take much longer, his arms throwing about wildly to help balance himself, he looks like a baby goat trying to take its first steps. 

I move to the kitchen to set my keys and wallet down on the island, my back turned to him and I hear him lumber up behind me, his arms wrapping around my middle and when he presses a kiss to the base of my neck, my knees nearly give out beneath me. 

One of his hands begins to move in little circles against my stomach and I almost collapse against him, I’m exhausted and it feels so good to see him, to be held by him, but one of us needs to be conscious right now and obviously it’s not going to be Snow. 

I take a deep breath before turning around in his arms, my own coming to rest on his shoulders. 

“Alright, Snow?” I ask, my voice soft and quiet, the distance between us feels so small I want so badly to close it, but Snow needs me right now, whether he’s present enough to know it or not. 

“Yeah, it was getting too loud, so I made it more quiet.” He slurs into the space between us, the words huffing against my lips, I can taste the alcohol on his breath but I can still smell the scent of him buried under the layers of booze, browned butter and cinnamon and it's that which makes me feel like I'm finally home. He can’t see the concern on my face because his eyes are screwed shut and I tighten my arms a little more against him. 

I wish I could make things easier for him, I wish that I could just pull Snow away from his own mind if only to give him a break. I know what it’s like to feel like you’re fighting a losing war against your own self, I know what it’s like to face your inner demons, but that doesn’t mean I can fight his for him. I wish so strongly, so wholeheartedly that I could, that it was that easy, but it’s not, and Snow doesn’t need for me to save him, he can save himself, I’ve seen him do it countless times before. I’m just here to remind him that he can, that he can fight and win. 

“It’s alright, I’ve got you,” I whisper into the air, my hips swaying gently to the music, my head tilting to rest against his. 

Slowly, so slowly, Snow starts to come back to himself. I know this is just the calm before the storm but I’m here with him through all of it, I’ll weather all the hurricanes in the world to stay by his side. 

I open my eyes when I feel Snow’s hands clenching against my shirt, his muscles clenching where my arms are resting on his shoulders. 

“It’s all my fault,” he squeezes out, his forehead moving to rest against my shoulder, his eyes screwed shut. My heart breaks for him, I know no one else aside from Simon thinks that but it’s difficult to reason with your fears when they are inherently irrational. 

I continue swaying even as the record scratches to a stop, after a few minutes I tilt my head to rest against Simon’s, my temple leaned against the crown of his head and I push as much conviction, as much strength into my voice as I can to say, “None of it is your fault, Snow,” 

I know that saying so probably does little to help with his firm conviction that it is his fault, but all that I feel like I can do is remind him, say it enough times that it becomes true for him. 

I’ll keep saying it like it’s a spell, keep practicing the right enunciation of the words, discerning the right moment to use them, understanding the entire meaning of them to my very core until it works, until Snow believes it. 

I feel him shake his head against mine, his voice coming out cracked and pinched and so, so small, “It is, I destroyed so many people’s lives and all I’m doing now is traveling around the country doing nothing, I don’t even have my magick so it’s not like I even could do something, and Professor Bunce just keeps asking me all these questions and I don’t know the answers to any of ‘em, and I can’t do anything and you’re already teaching at Watford and I’m not even doing anything, and-and-,” I cut him off by shrugging my shoulder, forcing him to look up and meet my eyes. 

His own are ringed-red and I can see the tears glistening at the corners and his curls are hanging limp against his forehead and he looks so defeated, something that someone as strong and fierce and brilliantly brave as Snow should never look like. 

I wish that I could make him see himself as I see him, could see that he is intelligent, that he is capable of so much more than he even knows, that he has come so far and worked so hard, could see that just because he isn’t The Chosen anymore doesn’t mean that he isn’t chosen, I chose him, I choose him every day, could see that just because the world doesn’t need him, doesn’t mean that he isn’t needed, I still need him. 

I just tell him what I know, what I believe to the very core of my being, “I’m not going anywhere, and you are making a difference, what you’re doing is important, and matters and all of the people who matter aren’t going anywhere, we all love you, magick or no. You are remarkable, Simon Snow, and I can’t even imagine a world without you in it.” 

Being this raw, this vulnerable, this honest with Snow is something that would’ve been nearly impossible for me a few years ago, and I’m so glad that I’m able to now, that I trust him enough to lay myself bare to him. 

I love him and he needs to know it, needs to believe that he is loved, to the very core his being, needs to believe that he is worthy of being loved. 

I watch as his eyebrows draw together and all of a sudden he pushes away from me, his palms shoved against my chest and he turns his back to me, head shaking and voice cracking as he says, “I’m broken, Baz, a few nice words it’s gonna fix me.” 

I sigh and rake my hand through my hair, I’m exhausted and want nothing more than to take a hot shower and rid myself of this day but I need to do this, I need to be here for Snow, Crowley knows he's been there for me. 

“So what if you’re broken Snow? So am I, do you love me any less for it?” Sometimes with Snow a more direct approach is what works, also I’m very tired and I only have so much patience. 

His head has stopped shaking and he’s planted himself in front of me, his arms hanging by his side, hands fisted and he stutters out, “No, I love you Baz, but you’re not broken, I am, I-I did all of that terrible stuff, I destroyed your house, I was the Humdrum I-I, I don’t even have any magick, can’t you see any of that?” 

I take a deep breath and try to fight against the headache that has begun to pulse against the sides of my head. 

“Snow, you’re one of most sincerely good people that I know, and none of that was your fault, I found out you were part of the Humdrum before you did so you hardly knew that you were doing any of it, and you’ve never asked for any of it, the power or the responsibility, none of it, and I will always love you, whether you have magick or not,” I say, trying to reason it out with him, hoping that the words will work when they haven’t yet, my hand rubbing against my temple. 

Snow has begun to pace in front of me, violently raking his hands through his curls and he meets my eyes to exclaim, “Fuck, Baz, if it’s not my bloody fault than whose it? Those dead spots opened when I used magick and it’s not like I was ever any good at it so I was useless at that too and one day you’re gonna realize-” his voice cuts off as it cracks, his eyes moving to the floor, one hand pulling a patch of golden curls, the other clenched against his side. 

“One day I’ll realize what, Snow?” I ask, my voice quiet, my arms itching to reach out to him and pull him toward me, to hold him and never let him go. 

He swallows one of his showy-swallows before dropping the hand that was in his hair and says, “One day you’ll realize what I am, and you’ll leave.” 

I loathe to imagine what my life would be like without Snow in it, I’ve always feared the day of him leaving me, I’m the one who is an actual monster between the two of us, Crowley knows Snow has all the reason in the world to leave me. I’m the one who antagonized him for all those years. 

I take a deep breath and a few moments to gather my thoughts before saying, “ I know that you are brave and honest and good and so, so smart and so kind, I know that The Mage gave you that counterfeit power, that he made you do all of those things, I know that it isn’t your fault that the dead spots opened up, I know that I love you, you are my entire world, Simon Snow, there hasn’t been a single day since I was eleven that I didn’t love you and need you in my life.” 

Snow takes a tiny shuffling step toward me, his shoulders dropping, his eyes fixed near my shoulder and I reach out, slowly so he can see me do it and gently take hold of his hand. 

“I’m broken, Baz, I’m a mess and I don’t know what I’m doing and I’ve messed up so many times.” His voice is so small and earnest and I hate that this is Snow’s reality, that he can’t see that we’re both messes, that we’re both broken and that we fit together because of it. 

“I’m a pretty big mess as well unless you’ve forgotten,” I say lightly, hoping to alleviate some of the tension that’s between us, my hand giving a small squeeze where I’m holding his. 

“But you’re not, Baz, you’ve always known who you are and where your place is in the world, you’re so strong Baz, you deserve so much better than me.” He says quickly, it’s hard to hold back my frustration, I wish I could just make him believe me. 

“You can’t just decide what I deserve Snow, I want to be with you, I love you and while I appreciate the sentiment, I’m not nearly as good or as sure of myself as you think me to be. I’m a vampire, I’m a dark creature and I spent half of my life convincing myself that I would have to kill you one day, I spent half of my life believing that I was evil. I have no idea what I’m doing but I know that I love you.” 

Snow quiets at that and I release the breath I didn’t know I was holding and I know we’re both tired and our nerves are frayed and Snow is still drunk and neither of us wanted our first night together in months to go like this. 

I reach out with my other hand and pull Snow to me, my arms wrapping around his neck, his own wrapping around my middle, and fisting on the back of my shirt. 

“It’s going to be alright, Simon,” I whisper against his curls, my voice nearly breaking, I can feel his shoulders hitching up, soft sniffles filling the silence. 

After a few moments he shakes his head against my shoulder and it’s only because of my Edward Cullen problem that I can hear his snotty, muffled, “I’m sorry.” and my heart breaks, I tighten my arms against his neck, one of my hands drifting to his curls and stroking through them. 

“It’s going to be alright,” I promise to him and we just hold each other for what feels like hours, there’s nowhere else I would rather be, holding him in my arms, standing by his side during the hurricane. 

I clench my eyes against the tears threatening to spill against my cheeks. 

A little while later I can feel Snow’s shoulders rest, the quiet sobs that were wracking his body coming to a close and I pull away just enough to be able to meet his red-ringed eyes and say, “We’re both broken Snow, that’s why we fit. We match.” A small smile is playing at my lips and our flat feels so quiet. 

“Guess so.” Snow says with a tiny smile, his shoulders giving a small shrug at the words and I tilt my forehead to rest against his. 

We’ve come a long way but there are still difficult days, difficult weeks, difficult months, but we pull through them, we learn how to weather the storms and I’d weather all of them for him. For this beautiful boy, my rosebud boy. The storms will still come, I don’t think they’ll ever stop, we’ll just get better at recognizing them for what they are and learning how to make it through them. 

I pull away just enough to press a kiss to his forehead, one hand cupping his cheek, the other resting on his neck. 

“Hungry, Snow?” I ask after I’ve stepped back, my arms falling to his waist. I know I’m starving, it’s been too long since I last fed and I haven’t eaten anything since I had a single scone and some tea for breakfast. 

“Might do.” murmurs, feeling boneless as he sags against my arms, his eyes drooping closed. 

“How about we order something, then?” I ask, even though I make no move to get my mobile from where it rests behind me on the island. 

“Might do.” He says, his mouth pulling into a massive yawn and I can’t help my small laugh, Snow usually crashes pretty hard after drinking, I’m surprised he’s made it as far as he has without passing out. 

“Alright then, I’ll order us some curry from that restaurant down by the butchers,” I say before slowly extricating my arms from around Snow and reaching for my mobile. Snow nods in sleepy-agreement before turning around and heading back into the living room. 

After making the call to the restaurant (which was blessedly still open even though according to my mobile it’s nearing nighttime), I begin to reheat some pig’s blood. Snow keeps our refrigerator well-stocked and is on very friendly terms with all the butchers nearby. 

I’m too tired and strung out to use a spell so I just pour some in a cup and reheat it in the microwave. Doing it this way isn’t the best, not all of the blood gets melted and not all of it is the same temperature but it works. 

The beeping from the microwave echoes around the flat, and when I pull out my cup (one of the teacups that had rested on a shelf against the wall) I’m surprised to find that there aren’t any small frozen fragments in it this time. 

When I make my way into the living room, I find that Snow has taken his coat and shoes off (finally) and is splayed out length-wise on the couch, his cheek jammed against one of the pillows, his soft snores filling the room. 

I let Snow rest for as long as it takes for the food to get here, I know he’s hungry (Snow is never not hungry) and he needs to get something in his stomach other than high-proof vodka. I’ve settled in on my leather wingback chair, a copy of this week’s crossword settled on my lap (Snow likes to collect them for me while I’m gone) when the doorbell chimes. 

I pad as quietly as I can to the door and accept our food, bringing the bags back to the kitchen. After getting everything on plates and getting Snow a glass of water, I head back to the living room where Snow is still soundly asleep. 

“Simon,” I whisper, giving a gentle shake of his shoulder, his eyes scrunch adorably and I press another chaste kiss to his temple muttering a quiet, “wake up, darling.” against the wild curls there before I step back and move to sit on the opposite end of the couch where Snow’s feet are, the food laid out before us on the coffee table. 

“ ‘M up,” he mumbles against the pillow, pulling his feet towards him as he sits up, his eyes still scrunched together, his curls mashed to his head on one side and sticking up in wildly different directions on the other. He pulls a hand through them, attempting to tame them no doubt but all it does it make the side that was pressed against his head stick up like the other side. My stomach flips at the sight and I don’t even bother to try and hide what I am sure is a horrifying shade of red on my cheeks. 

“Come on, Snow, we’ve some delicious curry before us, best eat it before it gets cold,” I say, taking a decent bite of my own, the familiar tingle of my fangs dropping, watching as Snow starts to perk up at the sight of food. 

“You’re a mage, could just spell it hot.” He mutters before packing into his own meal, I love Snow, but it can be downright painful to watch him eat sometimes. 

I manage to coax him into taking a few sips of water which leads to him downing the whole glass because I know Snow can never back down from a challenge, even one as immature and idiotic as daring him to drink a whole glass of water. 

After clearing our plates away Snow and I settle together on the couch watching another episode of Great British Bake Off (Snow is obsessed) he’s laid lengthwise against one of the arms, my back to his chest and our legs are tangled together in a heap on the opposite side, a thick blanket resting atop us, Snow absent mindedly rubbing one of his big palms against my belly and I’m a few seconds away from sleep when Snow whispers, “I’m sorry I made tonight a mess.” His hand pausing against my stomach. 

I pull his hand up and kiss his knuckles, shaping the words against them, “There’s no need for any of that tonight, Snow.” 

I can feel him thinking against me, his brain no doubt working through a thousand different excuses before he exhales against my hair and says, “How ‘bout ‘thank you’?” 

“I’ve no idea what you should be thanking me for, Snow, though I suppose if you insist on showing gratitude, you could promise me that no one will be coming here for the entire weekend, our doors will remain bolted, no matter what kind of crisis Mordelia may be going through or that Dev and Niall want to take us to the newest chippy. None of that. Promise me that we will have these two days to ourselves.” I huff out, very nearly asleep and Snow’s steady heartbeat against my back isn’t helping my frankly nonexistent attempts at staying awake. 

“Alright, think I can do that.” Snow laughs against my hair, his arms tightening around my waist, the shrieks and anguished cries of Britain’s best bakers echoing in the room but all that I can hear is Snow’s laugh, his heartbeat. 

My last thought before I fall asleep is that David Bowie once said, “When I was 18, I thought that, to be a romantic, you couldn't live past 30.” and I think back to myself before Snow, before that night when I brought the stars down to Earth with his magick, before I allowed myself to love him, and how much different that world was. 

I would never let myself entertain the thought that I could have a happily ever after, the most I might get is a happy ending, but even that was naïve and overly optimistic. I never thought that I would be here, where I am today. 

I never allowed myself to think that I could be happy, let alone happy with Snow and now that I have this, I want to hold to this life close to me, to protect it with everything I have, with everything I am. 

Snow and I made this, together, we’ve weathered the hardships and come out stronger for it, what we have is precious and I never, ever thought myself worthy of something so good. 

Bowie might have thought it romantic to not make it to thirty but for me, it was the best possible outcome, I didn’t even know if I would make it to eighteen. But I did, and I could never have hoped for what I have now. 

We’ll be our own heroes, fighting to protect this beautiful, precious thing.


End file.
